The Amorous Adventures of Marik Ishtar
by RosalindHawkins
Summary: An ongoing collection of Marik/Malik Ishtar shipping one-shots: Angstshipping, Bronzeshipping, Citronshipping, Changeshipping, Doubtshipping, Goldshipping, Lavendershipping, Midriffshipping, Powershipping, Rodshipping, Thiefshipping, Tornshipping, Vengeanceshipping. More to come! Smut, lemon, yaoi, non-/dub-con. Please review!
1. Angstshipping (Ryou x Marik)

_**I will be keeping the shippings in this collection in alphabetical order for the sake of organization, so don't let that confuse you when I add new ones.**_

* * *

 _There's a place that I know. It's not pretty there, and few have  
ever gone. If I show it to you now, will it make you run away?_

Ryou was huddled on the far side of the bed, the blankets pulled up to his chin. He should have been asleep, but he was wide awake after his nightmare. He'd been remembering the duel between Yami Marik and the Spirit of the Millennium Ring, how carelessly they'd gambled the bodies of their lighter halfs, how cruelly they'd treated each other and everyone else on the blimp. The worst part of it all was when Bakura had been banished to the Shadow Realm and Ryou was sucked into that hellish place with him. He trembled just to think of it.

He wanted to forget Battle City entirely, remove it from his memory. If he couldn't remember the things that upset him, then he wouldn't have nightmares like this, wouldn't break down crying in the middle of the night like this.

"Ryou, are you alright?"

Marik's soft whisper reached his ears despite the sound of his own sobbing. A tanned arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to the center of the bed and to his beloved.

 _Or will you stay, even if it hurts? Even if I try to push you out, will you return_  
 _and remind me who I really am? Please remind me who I really am._

"It's okay, Ryou—"

"No, it's not!" Ryou cried out, pressing his face into the pillow to smother his tears. "It's not okay… I can't forget," he whispered. "I can't forget what happened, what _he_ did. And when I remember, it feels like I'm the one who did those things, even though…"

"You know it wasn't you," Marik finished sadly. The same thing was happening to him, so he knew exactly what Ryou meant. "But even though you know that…"

"It doesn't make you feel any less guilty." Ryou looked up and tearful chocolate eyes met regretful lavender ones. "The lines between him and me are so blurred, I'm still trying to figure out how much of my identity he stole or changed."

"At least your yami was a foreign presence," Marik murmured bitterly, shifting closer to Ryou as he both sought and gave comfort. "I created mine. It was always a part of me." He nuzzled his head against Ryou's, eyelids drooping tiredly. These nightmares needed to stop, for both of them, or neither of them would ever get a full night's sleep ever again.

 _Everybody's got a dark side. Can you love me? Can you love mine? Nobody's a picture perfect,_  
 _but we're worth it, you know that we're worth it. Do you love me, even with my dark side?_

"I still don't understand how you can forgive me after I worked with _him_ to control you." Marik touched Ryou's wet cheek tenderly, trying to dry the tears. "I treated you terribly, and it's my fault you went to the Shadow Realm…"

"You banished yourself to the Shadow Realm, too, though," Ryou reminded him gently, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. "So that makes us even."

"I'm still afraid that he might come back," Marik confessed in a murmur. "My own, I mean. Yours is gone for good, but who's to say that I won't lose my mind all over again? I don't want to hurt anybody, but I can't promise that I won't…" The tremor in his voice was reminiscent of his childhood self, whose fear and pain and anger had created his darkness in the first place.

"I know what you mean." Ryou pressed closer and kissed Marik's cheek. "But I don't think we have anything to worry about that happening. We have no more darkness in ourselves than any other person, now. We can control it so long as we remember that we can." He paused, then added, "We'll have to keep reminding each other of that, because I know I'll still worry about it at times."

"Deal," Marik murmured, lifting a hand so that he and Ryou could link pinkies as a symbol of their promise. Grief and anxiety drained their energy immensely, and now that they both felt somewhat comforted, they were able to allow themselves to sleep.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

A brief, salty kiss before they closed their eyes.

They feared themselves. They feared each other. They feared the darkness and the shadows. But together, their light was strong enough to banish the monsters lurking in the corners of their minds. The more they trusted each other, the stronger that light grew. It was a slow process, but it was saving their souls.

* * *

 **Author Notes:** Angstshipping, as requested, and I made it a songfic of "Dark Side" by Kelly Clarkson. Goodness, I love this pairing. ^_^ Please leave a review if you liked it, and feel free to place a request for your favorite Marik shipping!


	2. Bronzeshipping (Marik x Malik)

**_It's like you're a drug. It's like you're a demon I can't face down. It's like I'm stuck. It's like I'm running from you all the time. And I know I let you have all the power. It's like the only company I seek is misery all around._**

Marik dropped to his knees and cried as burning pain seared his skin, consuming his senses so that all he knew was the hot, inflamed sting of his carved flesh. Trying to move only caused more pain, and he found himself unable to crawl the rest of the way to his own bed. Even the slight shudder of each sob increased his suffering and encouraged his tears. His tears fell and mixed with the dusty sand on the floor, darkening it until, in the dim candlelight, it looked like blood.

The more he cried, the more pain he was in, so he cried even more. The cycle of emotional torture continued, overwhelming the child who was too young to understand or handle what had been done to him or why it was happening. Even if he were older, though, and could understand his father's reasoning, he would still be distressed. Nothing truly justified putting a child, your own son, through so much pain.

"I feel so alone," Marik whimpered, hiding his face in his hands as he continued to cry, wishing desperately for a friend, for someone to comfort him in his agony.

"I'll be your friend."

Marik looked up in surprise, but nobody was there. Breathing shallowly, Marik called out, "Who's there?"

"The one who will make things better," the voice whispered in his ear, sounding like it came from all directions at once. "I will be your friend and save you from ever being hurt again."

"You can do that?" Marik asked in awe and disbelief. He didn't think there could ever be an end to this.

"I am the strength you're too afraid to use," the voice told him. "I'm the one who will keep you safe. I am the one who cares more for you than anyone else ever could. I am the one who will never desert you."

"What is your name?"

"Malik."

 _ **It's like you're a leech sucking the life from me. It's like I can't breathe without you inside of me, and I know I let you have all the power, and I realize I'm never gonna quit you over time.**_

"What have you done?" Marik demanded, filled with horror as he faced Malik in his mind.

"I've saved you." Malik tilted his head a little as he coolly considered his distraught alter ego. "He hurt you. He scared you. Now, you are safe."

"Safe?" his twin repeated tearfully, wanting to trust his other self, wanting to believe that he was finally safe.

"I would never lie to you." The other boy stepped close and took Marik's face in his hands. "You are safe now, but I won't rest until I am strong enough to protect you from the whole world. I will be strong enough that you will never be afraid again."

"Really?" It sounded too good to be true. Was such an existence possible? A life without fear and pain and darkness?

"Really." Malik pressed his lips to Marik's for a moment, surprising his better half. "I won't give up until we do." His eyes narrowed with anger as he added, "And the pharaoh, the one responsible for all of your pain, will suffer as we have. He doesn't deserve his power if he's going to use it to dictate another's pain."

"You're right," Marik agreed, fascinated with these new ideas and almost surprised at himself. "Nobody who hurts people like that should be allowed to have so much power."

"I will make that power ours," Malik promised, grasping Marik's hands in his own as they stood together in a puddle of blood. "I will avenge you and claim his throne for _us_."

 _ **It's like I can't breathe. It's like I can't see anything, nothing but you. I'm addicted to you. It's like I can't think without you interrupting me in my thoughts, in my dreams. You've taken over me. It's like I'm not me. It's like I'm not me.**_

"Why are you _doing_ this?"

Marik was terrified of Malik now. He'd taken over and subjugated his lighter half, imprisoning him in their soul room as he set about their campaign for power on his own. Marik's wrists wore manacles that chained him to the stone wall behind him. It was the stone wall of his underground home in Egypt. Malik had made his prison into the place where he'd suffered the most pain and fear. Malik stood before him, his purple cape flowing from his shoulders and the Millennium Rod clasped tightly in one hand, his black tank top tight around his muscular torso, his cargo pants loose enough to be comfortable but tight enough to be flattering.

"Because you were getting in the way. The moment you started second-guessing yourself, you became a liability. I couldn't let you ruin all of our plans, now could I?" He strolled closer to his other identity, looking calm and casual, even smiling a little. "Trust me when I tell you that I know best."

"How can I trust you when you _betrayed_ us? Betrayed _me?_ " Marik demanded, deeply upset. "You gave away our cover, then you took control when I told you not to!" His breathing was shallow now just as it had been when he was a child, his circumstances pressuring him into a similar state of distressed panic. "I told you not to and you _still_ did it!" he shouted angrily. "How am I supposed to trust you now?"

"You'll _have_ to trust me," he answered with that same, unconcerned smile, kneeling down before the tan teen. He hooked the head of the Millennium Rod under Marik's chin and forced his hikari to look him in the eye. "I'm in control now, so you don't have a choice."

"No!" Marik screamed, like a child having a temper tantrum. "I'm in control! I _have_ to be in control, Malik you _know_ that!"

He fell silent as Malik pressed the golden artifact firmly against his throat, bringing him to his senses as he cut off his air for a few moments, then eased the pressure.

"You said you loved me." Quiet tears began to fall from Marik's eyes. "You promised you'd never hurt me."

"I _do_ love you." Malik removed the Millennium Rod from his throat and kissed him slowly. "This is for your own good."

"I don't… I don't believe you…" Marik murmured between kisses, trying to resist his desire. Malik _was_ the only one who loved him, and Marik, like every other human being, wanted to be loved.

"Yes you do."

Malik unzipped Marik's cropped hoodie and unsheathed the Rod's blade. He cut away Marik's purple hoodie and black tank-top, his prisoner trembling as he bit his lip and watched the other's movements anxiously, afraid that the blade might slip. He pulled away the last scrap of fabric and set the Rod down out of Marik's reach.

"I need to be in _control_ ," Marik insisted faintly as Malik's hands traced over his chest, his abs, his shoulders, his neck. One calloused hand curled around Marik's throat, caressing it gently in an imitation of a choke-hold.

"You like the chains, though," Malik murmured. He licked a slow trail of saliva up Marik's cheek.

"No I _don't_. Let me _out_." Marik was pleading now, sounding pathetic as his alter ego cupped his hand over the slight bulge in Marik's pants. "Let me be _free_ again, Malik. Please, please…" He was trembling again as he turned his sad lilac eyes upon his partner in crime. Their faces were so close that Marik's nose brushed against Malik's cheek. "Please, Malik. _Please_ ," he begged, whimpering like the child he used to be.

"No." Malik roughly claimed Marik's lips in a harsh kiss. "You don't need to be in control, because you can trust me. I am in control now. I will take care of you."

Malik pulled away and stood over Marik, opening his pants with one hand as he beckoned Marik with the other. Shakily, Marik got to his knees and stood, his face now close to the other's crotch. He had just enough loose chain that he could take hold of the waistband and pull the khaki pants and boxers down to his knees. Malik grinned as he watched him, pleased by how well-trained Marik was and proud of himself for making him that way. He twisted his fingers into Marik's hair as his hikari hesitated and looked up at him with uncertainty and fear.

"Learn to love the chains, my dear," Malik crooned. "You won't be escaping them anytime soon."

* * *

 **Author Notes:** Bronzeshipping as requested (by several people, actually)! The song is Addicted by Kelly Clarkson, and I hope you enjoyed this songfic. _**Please review**_ and request a one-shot for _your_ favorite Marik shipping!


	3. Changeshipping 1 (Duke x Marik)

The club was booming: music pounding through the speakers, bodies gyrating to the rhythm, drinks being ordered at the bar nonstop. This was Duke's favorite place to be on a Saturday night, where you could meet an incredible variety of people. He'd come alone, hoping to find someone to take home while he was there. He had been off of the dance floor for a couple songs, catching his breath as he leaned against the wall and watched the entrance as more people entered. One in particular caught his eye: a tanned young man with fair hair and lilac eyes. He stood out from the crowd like a sore thumb. He looked a little overwhelmed, but mostly he looked lost. Duke pushed away from the wall and slipped through the crowd with the ease and speed of quicksilver until he was at the youth's side, putting a well-tones arm around his thin shoulders and guiding him out of the suffocating press of bodies, dropping his arm from his shoulder as soon as they were free of it.

"Hi there, stranger," he greeted with a wink. "Can I buy you a drink?" The youth blushed and nodded, much to Duke's pleasure. He led him to the bar and ordered two shots of tequila, leaning back against it as they waited for their drinks. "What's your name?" The stranger followed suit, leaning against the bar next to Duke.

"My name is Marik," he answered, his words accented and his voice musical. "What's your name?"

"Duke." He gazed at Marik with his emerald green eyes. "You're from out of town, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Where are you from?"

"Egypt."

"Have you ever been to a club before?"

"Never."

"Then I'm going to teach you how to have _fun_."

Two shots of tequila later, a flushed Duke was dragging a tipsy Marik onto the dance floor. He pulled the Egyptian against his body and began to grind against him in tune to the wildly blasting electro music. Marik seemed perplexed by the style of dancing and the music, so Duke put his hands on Marik's hips and guided his movements until he seemed to get a hang of it. Marik put his arms around Duke's neck as they let the alcohol carry them to the stars. As the tempo slowed and the tune changed, their dancing became even more sensual.

"What kind of dance is this?" Marik asked in a low, dusky voice.

"Blues," Duke answered in a close whisper, his lips brushing across his partner's ear with a light, feathery touch. He actually did know his stuff when it came to dancing, which definitely had its perks. Duke rocked his hips against Mariks' as he pressed his palm firmly against Marik's lower back and held him close. The tanned teen's cheeks were flushed as he stared up into Duke's face.

"I want… I mean, can we…" he stammered, then bit his bottom lip uncertainly. Duke chuckled softly and leaned in, stealing a kiss from the exotic angel in his arms. Marik looked surprised when Duke pulled away from him, but he also looked incredibly pleased; that's probably why he leaned in for another kiss.

Twenty minutes later, they were in Duke's car on the way to his apartment. Usually, Duke would have done it in the backseat, but when he found out that it was Marik's first time, he knew he had to do right by him. He parked with one hand, his other still rubbing Marik's thigh tenderly. The fair-haired teen had had the time to start to have doubts during the drive, and if he could have thought more clearly, he probably would have given in to them. But in truth, he _wanted_ this, so when Duke opened the car door for him and held out a hand to help him out of the car, he took it and went inside with him.

* * *

Marik wanted to stay the night, he really did, but he knew that he needed to go. Still, it was hard to leave when it was so comfortable sleeping with Duke at his back, an arm around his waist. He'd promised Odion that he would be back by morning. He'd promised. Marik pulled the blankets up closer around his shoulders, not wanting to leave this bubble of pleasure he'd found for himself. It was almost enough to make him change his mind. Almost enough to make him change his plans and stay with Duke instead of seeking revenge through world domination.

He scolded himself mentally as he pushed away the sheets and sat up, sliding his legs over the edge of the bed. This was a one night stand. It meant nothing to the other man, right? He stood and began to gather his clothes, regretting that he'd gone out that night at all. It had been a bad idea. He should have known better than to get his heart involved in anything.

Once dressed, he looked back at Duke one last time. His sleeping face was peaceful, handsome, and Marik couldn't resist giving his cheek one last kiss before he snuck out of the apartment, leaving before it was even 5 a.m.

Duke was disappointed to awake and find that Marik had left without so much as a goodbye or a note.

"What a pity, I really liked him," he muttered to himself as he made his morning coffee.

* * *

 **Author Notes:** I would love to see fanart of these two dancing, because I think it would be super adorable. :3 You can request a one-shot in the reviews or by voting in the poll on my profile, and I'll see what I can do! :) Please review!


	4. Changeshipping 2

_**When Marimba rhythm starts to play**_  
 _ **Dance with me, make me sway**_  
 _ **Like the lazy ocean hugs the shore**_  
 _ **Hold me close, sway me more**_

The blimp and the Battle City Tournament were long forgotten for these two souls, loners both, who danced together to forget their past troubles. Evil alter egos and vengeful parents took back seat to their need to dance, love, and forget their difficult pasts.

Duke was teaching Marik how to samba, and while it was slow going, they were both enjoying themselves. Duke had a degree of self-awareness and control over his body that amazed Marik, making him eager to acquire that same amount of control over himself.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the samba, he and Duke seemed to ease back into blues no matter what. Eventually, they stopped fighting it and let the music carry them as they rocked their hips together in a sensual haze.

 _ **Like a flower bending in the breeze**_  
 _ **Bend with me, sway with ease**_  
 _ **When we dance, you have a way with me**_  
 _ **Stay with me, sway with me**_

They'd made progress in their blues dancing as well, so it was far from dull. Duke had taught Marik how to follow dips and turns, and he actually had fun just trusting himself to Duke's arms and expertise.

Trust was the hardest thing to learn about dancing for Marik. He was good at learning steps and rhythms, but trust was hard. Trust would never come easily to Marik Ishtar.

 _ **Other dancers may be on the floor**_  
 _ **Dear but my eyes will see only you**_  
 _ **Only you have that magic technique**_  
 _ **When we sway, I go weak**_

"Do you teach dancing to all your other lovers?" Marik asked, his gaze fixed on a distant point past Duke's shoulder. He hadn't meant for the question to sound like a bitter accusation, but it did, even to his own ears. He winced at his blunder as Duke spun him out and pulled him close, wrapped in the other's arms.

"Not like this," Duke murmured into Marik's ear from behind without missing a beat. They rocked together for a few more beats before Duke added, "You're special to me, Marik. That's why I wanted you to stay in Japan. I can say goodbye to a one-time dalliance, but not to you."

Marik's heart skipped a beat, and he felt guilty for doubting him, even momentarily.

"I'm glad I stayed, too," he sighed. He'd be lying if he said that he hadn't been even a little bit anxious about letting Ishizu and Odion go back to Egypt without him, but he'd decided to take a risk, a leap of faith, and he was thrilled that Duke was proving himself as dedicated as he'd claimed to be.

 _ **I can hear the sound of violins**_  
 _ **Long before it begins**_  
 _ **Make me thrill as only you know how**_  
 _ **Sway me smooth, sway me now**_

As the old song says, "Dancing soon becomes romancing," and Duke always did his best to make that true. For Duke Devlin, making love was as much of a dance as lindy-hop or salsa. As Duke and Marik cuddled on the bed, breathless in the afterglow, it occurred to Marik that everything Duke did was in rhythm, from sex to dancing to cooking to dice-rolling to typing.

"Do you always have a rhythm running through your head?" he asked, looking up at his dark-haired lover with wide lilac eyes.

"Always, and you do too," Duke purred, tapping the spot on Marik's chest that hid his heart.

* * *

 **Author Notes:** The song is _Sway by Michael Buble_. Look it up; it's a great song for dancing! ;) Please review, and I might add another chapter to this!


	5. Citronshipping (Akefia x Marik)

**Author Notes:** Citronshipping as requested! I feel like this came out really strangely, though, for both of them. Eh. I can always try again later. Enjoy and review!

* * *

"Get that thing away from me!" Marik shrieked, leaping back in terror.

"Why?" Akefia asked with an innocent look. "It's not even poisonous… much." He grinned, making Marik shiver.

The pearly white snake slithering along Akefia's arms flicked its tongue out, and Marik tried to back up even more, but he hit a wall and couldn't move any further away, not without getting closer to the snake. Akefia took a few steps forward until he was about six feet away from the younger Egyptian.

"Come now, Marik, say hello to Diabound. He wants to meet you." He spoke calmly as he lifted his left hand towards Marik, the snake's head nearing the thief's wrist as it slithered towards Marik. Akefia, took another step forward as Marik flattened himself to the wall.

"Get away from me!" he shouted, growing increasingly distressed. He was shaking, his breathing shallow as he met the snake's icy blue eyes with his own and felt paralyzed. Akefia frowned and sighed, then backed off at last, returning Diabound to his terrarium. Marik's relief was visceral, as he relaxed and dropped to the floor, leaning back against the wall as he tried to catch his breath.

"I was just kidding, Marik," Akefia said softly as he approached the blond, now snake-free. "He's harmless. I wouldn't put you in danger like that." He crouched down by Marik and tried to put his arm around the other, but was pushed away.

"Stay away from me!" Marik cried out, his eyes watering as he rejected his lover's presence. Akefia froze, then pulled back, not wanting to upset Marik any more than he already had.

"I just wanted to help you overcome your fear," he said in explanation, letting his hand rest gently on Marik's shoulder. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Too late for that," Marik grumbled bitterly.

"Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

"Yeah, get rid of the snake!" Marik glared at Akefia, his lavender eyes narrowed with resentment. His partner had expected a reply along those lines, and he was glad that he'd already made arrangements for the snake to reside elsewhere for a little while until Akefia could bring it home again.

"Okay, I will." He bent his head and kissed Marik's cheek, trying to comfort him, but feeling like he wasn't doing a very good job of it. "He's locked up securely, and he's completely harmless. You don't have to be scared anymore."

"Hmph." The grunt was both indifferent and skeptical, and Akefia rolled his eyes.

"Look, what more do you want me to do?"

"Wash the smell of snake off of you." The blond wrinkled his nose in disgust as Akefia smelled his own arm. He couldn't discern any snake-scent on himself, but then again, maybe he'd just gotten used to it.

"Fine, I will." Akefia left to do just that, taking a quick shower to please Marik before he returned, hair still damp and wearing only a towel, to where Marik was still sitting against the wall on the floor.

"Quit pouting," the Thief King grumbled, tired of Marik's moodiness. "I did what you wanted me to do, so cheer up."

"It's still here, though," he pointed to the glass case where Diabound was curling around himself, as if to sleep.

"I'll get rid of him tomorrow. Until then," he took Marik by the hands and pulled him up so that he was standing too, "You need to chill out."

Marik scowled, opening his mouth to protest, but Akefia silenced him with a kiss. The shorter one resisted initially, determined to maintain his resolve and argue with him, but Akefia was too good, and Marik wanted him too much. With Marik's legs wrapped around his waist and his arms around his neck, Akefia carried his partner to their bedroom, grinning as he dropped the smaller male onto the bed. Marik quickly removed his black tank, baring his chest as Akefia dropped his towel and leaned over him to resume kissing him deeply, using an unusual amount of tenderness, as if the kiss was his apology. As Marik's hands roamed the broad, muscled chest before him, he lifted his knee to press it firmly between Akefia's thighs. The king of thieves grunted and broke the kiss, reaching for the waistband of Marik's khaki cargo pants. He stepped back and stripped them away, dropping them as Marik shimmied out of his boxers and shoved them onto the floor as well.

Now they were both fully vulnerable, and they sized each other up for a few moments, as if trying to decide what they were going to do now. Marik was the first to break the silence.

"Come here, I want to try something new." He stood and reached for his partner's hands. He led the suspicious thief to the bed and made him sit on the edge before fetching something from their nightstand.

"What did you have in mind?" Akefia asked, his voice raspy and deep, deeper than usual.

"A punishment for you, because you brought a snake into the apartment." Marik looked at him with an expression of pure mischief as he returned to his lover and placed his hands on those thick shoulders. He pushed on them until the thief complied, letting himself be lay down on his back. He still watched Marik carefully, unable to determine what he had in mind.

Marik moved at a leisurely pace, kneeling on the floor between Akefia's legs as he took the time to ensure his partner's full arousal with the use of his hands and mouth.

"Marik," Akefia growled between gritted teeth, his hands gripping Marik's hair tightly. It was a call, a demand, an order. His heavy panting made Marik smile.

"All in good time," he promised breathlessly, his own body flushed with need as he grabbed the bottle of lube from the floor and stood, forcing Akefia to release his hair. Akefia was expecting to watch Marik prepare himself, but gasped in surprise as Marik's fingers pressed to _his_ entrance.

"What are you—?" He grunted and gasped, hands clutching the sheets under him as two slick fingers pushed in.

"I did say I was punishing you, didn't I?"

"A-Ah!"

The teen teased delighted groans from the proud thief, feeling quite gratified as he did so.

"Now you know better than to bring snakes into our apartment again, you prick."

Marik removed his fingers, feeling bitter enough towards his lover to stop preparing him altogether. He pushed Akefia's legs up until his knees were close to his chest, contemplating the thief's feet for a moment before shoving them up above the other's head. Marik watched Akefia's face with a smug smirk. He took a moment to lube himself before rubbing against his lover's entrance.

"Are you ready?" he crooned with lowered lids and a sugary voice.

"No," the broader man retorted from his bent position, feeling far too vulnerable for his liking.

"Too bad," Marik growled.

He lined himself up and _shoved_. His fellow Egyptian roared beneath him, but he couldn't tell if it was out of pleasure, pain, or sheer frustration. Probably a mix of the three. He held his place deep within his lover, watching in satisfied fascination as he desperately tore at the sheets.

"Grab your thighs," Marik ordered sharply, and surprisingly, Akefia obeyed, gripping his own thighs as his fingernails indented the taut skin. Marik grinned and began to roughly slam into him at a rapid pace, causing the thief to claw at his own thighs as he cried out. He should punish Akefia more often.


	6. Cultshipping (Rare Hunters x Marik)

**Author Notes** : Cultshipping as requested! This is really short, because I started it a while back and then kind of gave up on it. So, let your imagination run wild! ... Or not. This is a weird scene, I'll just admit it.

If you want me to write a Marik shipping one-shot that's _nothing_ like this, make a request in a review or PM, and I'll see what I can do! Or you can buy a commission from me... please... broke college student over here...

* * *

"You have failed me. You were supposed to bring me the Red-Eyes Black Dragon, thus robbing Joey Wheeler of his most powerful card." Marik glared down at his Rare Hunter, uncrossing his legs as he sat on his throne-like chair, his deep purple cape spread out beneath him, his torso bare, and his golden crown set regally upon his head. The room was dark, Odion was absent, and they were alone.

"Failure is intolerable. You still owe me something." He untied the shenti around his waist—the same color as his cape, and beckoned the Rare Hunter forward with his Millennium Rod. The Rare Hunter couldn't have disobeyed even if he wanted to.

"On your knees," he ordered, and the man dropped to his knees before his master. He gripped the man's skull with his free hand. "You have greatly displeased me, Mind Slave. How will you make amends?"

The Rare Hunter bowed down and kissed his master's feet, making the youth smirk.

"Yes, kiss my holy feet, for I am your god," he encouraged, meaning every word he spoke. "But you'll have to do more than that if you wish to be spared from my wrath." His eyelids lowered as he stared down at the man, looking composed and impatient as he waited for a satisfying offer of retribution.

"Rest your feet upon me, Master Marik," the possessed man offered. "I will be your footstool."

"Very well." With the Rare Hunter on his hands and knees, Marik lifted his feet and rested them on the Rare Hunters back, crossing them at the ankles. A pair of masked mind slaves entered just then and threw themselves on the floor before him, grovelling in a way that made Marik scowl.

"You failed too, didn't you?" he accused menacingly.

"We are not worthy to be your servants!" they cried together, deeply distraught about displeasing their lord.

"You have failed me for the last time," Marik declared, removing his feet from the Rare Hunter's back. "Steve, go sit in the corner until I call you," he ordered, and the Rare Hunter obeyed meekly. "You two," he said, pointing his Millennium Rod at them as it began to glow. "Might as well give me a show before I release you from my service. Strip." They obeyed, shedding their capes and clothes and discarding them on the floor.

Marik grinned with a perverted sense of glee. Oh yes, this would be fun.


	7. Doubtshipping (Seto x Ryou x Marik)

**Author Notes:** Doubtshipping as requested! ^_^ Now I'm going to see if I can get this added back to the official shipping list on Tumblr! Enjoy and review!

* * *

It wasn't the first time that Seto had stayed at the KaibaCorp Headquarters much later than he'd initially intended. Issues had demanded his attention, and when he was forced to fire employees for incompetence, he did his best to pick up the slack himself until replacements were found.

Walking down the hallway in his mansion toward his bedroom, he experienced visceral relief. Finally, he could relax. He'd been at the office for almost seventeen hours that day, but he was finally home again. It was also nice to know that he wouldn't be coming home to an empty bed.

When he opened his bedroom door, though, his bed _was_ empty. He frowned, but a moment later noticed that the light was on in his bathroom. He removed his tie and dropped it on his dresser as he passed it, pushing open the bathroom door with a smile.

"There's more bubbles in there than water," a shirtless Marik said, his arms crossed as he expressed his irritation with Ryou, who was leaning over the bathtub wearing only Seto's shirt from the previous day. The dark teal color of the shirt was flattering on him, as was the way the shirt revealed his bum as he bent over.

"There are _not_ ," Ryou contradicted stubbornly, sticking his hand down among the bubbles to check the water level. "I don't see what you have against bubbles."

"I _don't_ have anything against bubbles," the Egyptian said stubbornly, turning his nose up at the Brit. "I just like to see where the water is." Seto chuckled at that, surprising them both.

"Seto! You're home!" Ryou hopped up off the floor where he was kneeling by the inset bathtub, scampered across the tiled floor in his bare feet, and threw his arms around the tall brunette. Seto put an arm around the shorter one's slim form as Marik turned to face Seto, looking indignant.

"It's about time, too." He looked sour as he watched the other two embrace, but Seto just rolled his eyes.

"Lighten up. I stayed as long as I needed to, but no longer than was necessary. Besides, if you were really that mad at me, you would have gone to bed without me," he retorted, feeling somewhat smug as the Egyptian frowned at him and turned his back on them.

"Come on, Marik," Ryou pleaded, his eyes round and innocent as he looked over his shoulder. "Now that he's home, why don't you just be happy?"

"I still think that we should boycott him for the night," Marik grumbled. " _That_ would teach him not to come home so late."

Seto laughed again and said, "If you don't want to join our bath, you don't have to, but _we_ are going to enjoy ourselves." He looked down at Ryou and tugged at the collar a little, smirking. "What did I tell you about going through my laundry?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. Ryou's cheeks flushed prettily as he dropped his gaze and veiled his crystal green eyes with those thick eyelashes.

"I like wearing your clothes, though," he murmured sweetly.

"You can wear the clean ones, you know. I have enough that you could get away with it easily, and I'll still have plenty to wear."

"But the clean ones don't smell like you." Ryou's cheeks darkened, and Seto chuckled again. "Besides, the clean ones are such beautiful shirts," Ryou sighed romantically. "I hate the idea of being the one to ruin them." The Brit reached for Seto's belt and started stealthily unbuckling it. "Come on, let's get in the bath before the water gets cold."

"You do remember that the bath is heated, right?" Seto reminded him, content for the moment to just watch Ryou undress him with his nimble fingers.

"Then let's get in the bath before the bubbles dissolve." Ryou glanced over at Marik again, starting to look troubled by the other's silent treatment. "Marik, please join us," he asked softly, and Seto couldn't help but wonder how much of it was entirely sincere and how much of it was accentuated for the purpose of manipulating their lover. "It's not the same without you, you know."

Ryou's wheedling was effective at making Marik sigh regretfully and turn around to face them, finally giving in.

"Oh, alright," he muttered, trying to look more reluctant than he really was, even though it fooled neither of them. Seto made quick work of his clothes as the other two removed what little they wore. Marik was the first in the tub, pushing the bubbles away so that he could see through the water to where he was putting his feet as he descended the steps into the deep tub and sank into the foam with an irked expression. Ryou waited, bouncing on his toes, for Seto to finish undressing. As soon as he had, he took Seto by the hand and eagerly dragged him over to the tub, splashing into it with an unmitigated, childish joy that tended to lighten the hearts of both his lovers.

"Mmm, if I had known anything about what your house looked like on the inside, I would have tried to bed you much sooner," Ryou teased, his grassy eyes dancing with mischief as Seto settled himself in the water and reached for the Brit. He planted his large hands on his waist and lifted him into his lap, his willowy lover straddling him now.

"You look good wearing bubbles," Ryou murmured and giggled at himself.

"How tired are you, Ryou?"

"I'm not tired, I'm fine," he answered innocently. "Why do you ask?"

"Because when you're tired, you act drunk."

"He's right, you know," Marik commented nonchalantly as he came up behind Ryou, hugging him from behind and resting his chin on Ryou's shoulder. "You do act kinda drunk when you're really tired."

"There's no way for you to know that when I've never been drunk before," Ryou declared, crossing his arms as he started to pout. Marik nuzzled his cheek as Seto rubbed the Brit's thigh comfortingly.

"Don't be so sensitive, babe," Marik crooned before licking Ryou's cheek with the tip of his tongue. "It's adorable."

"Do you think I'm adorable too, Seto?" Ryou asked after a moment, sliding a sly gaze in the brunette's direction.

"You're… cute as a kitten," Seto answered almost awkwardly before patting Ryou on the head. "You're fluffy like one, too."

"I like that name, Kitten." Ryou giggled again. "Can you call me Kitten from now on?"

Marik and Seto exchanged a knowing glance. Oh yes, Ryou would be quite fun in bed tonight.


	8. Goldshipping (Atem x Marik)

**Author Notes:** I originally planned on having some kind of violent angry dom/sub knifeplay scene for Goldshipping, but I couldn't get into it, so... this happened. Yeah. I'm sorry it's so short. As always, please review to give me your opinions and your criticisms, and if there's a Marik shipping you want me to add to this collection, let me know in a review or PM!

* * *

Hot... so hot...

Marik's small, young body burned with fever as it struggled to reject the poison. The amount flowing through him was almost enough to kill. He'd be dead by now if it weren't for Odion.

A dry rag smoothed over his forehead, collecting the sweat that seeped from his skin. A moment later, the dry rag was replaced with a cool, damp cloth that was left in place. The child whined in the back of his throat as he started pushing away the blanket that covered him. Eyes closed, he kicked away the fabric that made him feel even hotter than he already did. When he'd finished thrashing and curled up on his side to consolidate heat against the chill of the fresh air, the blanket was carefully pulled up over his body again, the wet cloth put back on his forehead after being knocked off by his restlessness.

"Odion..." His whimpered cry was feeble and scarcely audible. Ishizu looked down at her brother in pity. What could she say? If she told Marik that their father was currently punishing Odion for letting Marik get bitten in the first place, it would only upset him further.

"You're going to be alright, Marik," she whispered instead, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she sat by his bed with perfect posture.

"You're going to be alright."

Marik didn't recognizee deep male voice that rumbled reassuringly at him, and, in his half-conscious state, the strange sound was enough to make him open his eyes. In his feverish haze, all he could make out was the blurry shape of shining golden man dressed like a pharaoh. The man's violet eyes gazed at the sick child with regret and pity. He reached out one ghostly hand to take a stray hair and move it out of Marik's eyes.

"You're going to be alright," he repeated in a whisper. "In the end, at least."

"Can you promise that?" Marik asked in the faintest of whispers as he stared at his mysterious visitor.

The visitor with spiked, red-tipped, black hair smiled sadly and said no more before dissipating in a shimmer of mist.

"Marik? Did you say something?" Ishizu asked, looking up from the scroll she was studying.

"Hmmm…" Marik lilac eyes closed again as he shivered and hugged the blanket under his chin, and was then taken by the heat of his fever again.

When Marik recovered and discovered how his closest friend had been punished so wretchedly by his father, he became quite angry. Hadn't he heard a promise that everything would be alright? Why would someone make that promise to him when it was nothing but a lie? He began to hate his father and the pharaoh and whoever had promised him peace at the end of his illness. He wanted freedom, and he was ready to do anything to get his hands on it.


	9. Lavendershipping (Zigfried x Marik)

**Author Notes:** Lavendershipping written on behalf of all fans of obscure shippings! If you ship an obscure/unpopular shipping, please request a one-shot for it in a review or PM, because seriously, that's what I'm here for. :)

* * *

"May I join you, Mien Liebster?"

Marik opened his lilac eyes and sat up as the sweet German voice reached his ears. There stood Zigfried, wearing only his bathrobe as he stood by the edge of the bath Marik currently soaked in.

"Of course," Marik answered with a smile. His pink-haired lover shed his robe and stepped into the large marble tub inset.

"Vhy do you not have the jets on?" He reached down and pushed a button, the jets bubbling to life around the two of them in a way that made Marik's face light up. Zigfried chuckled in amusement, delighted by his partner's reaction. "Perhaps we can make this even more delightful, hm?" He picked up a jar from the ledge where he kept at least a dozen different bottles and containers for expensive products. First, he dumped the jar of fresh rose petals and dried lavender into the bath, then he added a generous portion of bubble bath solution. The jets quickly blended his contributions with the water, making the steam aromatic and the surface frothy with bubbles. Marik laughed out of sheer delight as Zigfried finally joined the younger teen on his side of the tub.

"I've never seen anything like this before!" he exclaimed joyously, and Zigfried nibbled at his ear playfully.

"I know," he answered softly, well aware of Marik's past. "Fear not, Mien Schätzchen. You will live in nothing less than luxury from now on." Marik turned his gaze on Zigfried with a look of gratitude as he put his arms around his lover's neck.

"You don't know how much this means to me," he murmured, trying to express how thankful he truly was.

Zigfried had always lived in such affluence that he'd never given a thought as to how his basic needs would be met. But Marik had lived in a barren tomb robbed of all joy for the entirety of his childhood, underfed, malnourished, abused. He hadn't known joy or comfort or satisfaction. Now, he never needed to worry about any of those things again. He got to live a life as plump and plentiful as Zigfried, and he got to live that life _with_ him. He felt embarrassed for being so easily pleased by things Zigfried had always taken for granted, but his partner didn't seem to mind. He enjoyed seeing a look of wonder on his lover's soft features.

"The only thanks I need is your love," Zigfried assured as he guided Marik into his lap, making the darker-skinned boy blush. They kissed, the act sweet and slow as the floral essences caressed their bodies indulgently. Marik shifted his legs until he was kneeling on the ledge where the German sat, straddling his lover's lap. When Zigfried moved his mouth from Marik's lips to his neck, sucking and nipping ever so gently, the Egyptian's lips were red from the friction.

"You will never have to worry about anything ever again, Mien Wüstenrose," he murmured against the bronze.

"What does that mean?" Marik asked softly, his eyes half-lidded as he tipped his head back to allow Zigfried unimpeded access to his neck. His hands rested on the German's shoulders, massaging them lightly.

"My Desert Rose," Zigfried answered before tangling his fingers in Marik's hair and pulling him down into another kiss, this one deeper and more sensual. Marik held onto him as his beloved reached over the side of the tub for a luxury of a different kind. The Egyptian gripped his partner's pale shoulders firmly and moaned wantonly as the butt plug was pushed inside. Yes, this was a tremendous improvement from his life in Egypt.

Their foreplay was tender and delicate, but their roles were clearly established. Zigfried was the one with the most experience, the most knowledge, and the most… creativity when it came to lovemaking.

A good while later, Marik was limp in Zigfried's arms, sleepy, sated, and content.

"I think it's time for bed, Mien Schätzchen." Zigfried helped Marik to stand then began gently drying his body with a thick, fluffy towel. The Egyptian simply purred and nuzzled into his beloved. Yes, this was the good life.


	10. Midriffshipping (Alister x Marik)

**Author Notes:** Midriffshipping as requested! This takes place early on in Season Four; sorry for the cheesy ending. :P Please review and request a one-shot for _your_ favorite Marik shipping! (Or any Yugioh shipping, for that matter.)

* * *

Marik Ishtar: A platinum blond Egyptian teen with lavender eyes and the secrets of the pharaoh carved into his back. That was Alister's target, as assigned by Master Dartz. Alister was willing to do anything for the power the Orichalcos gave him, but that didn't mean he enjoyed being sent to the desert in the middle of nowhere. He guessed it was a punishment for failing to acquire the soul of Seto Kaiba at Pegasus' castle. At least he didn't have to travel across the desert on foot.

As he drove his motorcycle south, he glanced down at the GPS unit. He was rapidly approaching his destination. He'd been given the GPS coordinates for the target's Duel Disk, something they could track without hacking since they now had control over KaibaCorp, but he couldn't help but wonder if they were accurate. There wasn't anything around for miles as far as he could see.

He drove over a sand-dune and finally saw where he was going: an oasis. As he got closer, he saw a motorcycle parked under a palm tree. It was larger than he would have expected an oasis to be, but then again, he'd never been to the desert before.

Sand sprayed and billowed into the air in a cloud of gritty dust as Alister came to an abrupt halt. He dismounted his motorcycle and looked around, starting to get irritated. Where was the Ishtar kid? His Duel Disk was nowhere in sight and neither was Marik. Fantastic. He approached the water's edge, noticing a stack of loosely folded clothes on a large stone. He looked for any signs of his opponent under the water, but it was too dark to see much of anything.

A dark-skinned figure emerged from the water just then, his tattooed back turned towards Alister as he pushed his blond hair back, away from his face. Water streaming down his body, he wrung his hair and turned, unaware that he was being watched until his violet eyes met Alister's steely ones. They both froze for a moment, taken aback by the other.

Alister hadn't seen a picture of Marik, so he hadn't known that the youth would be this beautiful. It made him feel weak to admit that it took his breath away. Marik was shocked by the stranger's presence alone, nevermind his strange get-up. Finally, instinct kicked in, and Marik disappeared under the water again. Alister took a step back from the water, but not quick enough. Marik burst from the oasis again, this time snatching something from the stone that held his clothes and shoving Alister to the ground. Marik landed on top of him a moment later, pinning him to the ground and holding a curved dagger above his head.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed at the scarlet-haired duelist.

"I'm here to challenge you to a duel!" Alister announced, trying not to sound nervous.

"No."

"What?" Alister didn't understand what he meant. "What do you mean no?"

"I'm not going to duel you." Marik lowered his knife to the ground, laying it in the sand as his hand dropped to the spot next to Alister's head. The anger left his face as he gazed down at Alister, his face relaxing into an expression that was, of all things, peaceful.

"Why not?" Alister demanded, frustrated with this whole encounter so far.

"Because I'm done dueling."

"Then why do you have your Duel Disk with you?" Alister demanded, startling Marik.

"How did you know—?"

"That's not important," Alister snapped, shoving Marik off of him while he had the chance to do so. He sat up and started to wipe away the water that Marik had dripped onto him. He glanced at the tanned teen again, but looked away quickly, blushing more than he would have liked. "You're shameless, aren't you? Could you put some clothes on?" he muttered.

" _You're_ the one who barged in on _me_ ," Marik reminded him with a hint of disdain as he stood and picked up his towel, which had been warmed by the sun while he swam.

"Why don't you want to duel me?" Alister asked as he remained seated on the ground with his eyes careful averted.

"I've given up dueling for good," Marik said steadily as he dried himself and started to dress. "It got me into a lot of trouble in the past. I used dueling as an instrument to exact revenge, and my anger consumed me until almost nothing good remained in my soul."

He paused, and Alister risked looking up at him. Marik was pressing his hand over his heart, his eyes closed and his head bowed. His wet, dripping hair brushed down against his cheek, dripping onto his skin so that the water imitated teardrops. He opened his eyes a little, the lavender slits turning on him with a sad look.

"I never want to become that way again, and that can't happen if I don't duel," he concluded, Alister contemplating his words.

"Did you get your revenge?" he asked curiously, thinking that if he'd attained his revenge, it would have been worth it.

"No. I almost did, but I realized that revenge doesn't benefit anyone. It's not satisfying to those who seek it and it harms those who suffer it. Revenge isn't worth selling your soul." Marik zipped up his cropped, sleeveless, lavender hoodie and crouched beside Alister, brushing away the water on his own cheek. "Why do you want to duel me? Who are you and who sent you?" he asked, all business.

Alister gazed up at him, trying to find the words to express his mission, but feeling guilty about all of it now. Was Marik right? Was revenge really as dissatisfying as he claimed? Was it really not worth selling your soul to attain it? The stone of the Orichalcos glowed in his choker necklace as the evil magic flooded his mind, convincing him that this was the right thing to do.

"I was sent here by Master Dartz and I'm here to claim your soul for the Orichalcos!" Alister declared, his features contorted with anger. He started to stand up again, but Marik lay his hand on Alister's chest and exerted enough pressure to make him stop.

"You don't listen very well, do you?" Marik's lips twitched into a smirk. "I've had to fight hard to keep my soul, and I'm not about to lose it to _you_." He leaned forward, his lidded eyes and mischievous expression making Alister blush. "Something tells me that you've already given up your soul to him in a way. Is it worth it, though? Have you been happy for even a single moment since you entered into his service?"

Alister opened his mouth to protest that he had, but realized before he spoke that it wasn't true. He'd been miserable since devoting his life to the Orichalcos. Nothing could satisfy him, nothing could please him.

"Even if you _do_ get your revenge, it won't make anything better," Marik murmured, his face close to Alister's, and still getting closer. "I would recommend you rethink your life. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'Make love, not war'?"

Those four simple words hit home for Alister, piercing his heart to its very core. He gaped at Marik in shock, conflicted and confused. He should have known better than to leave his mouth open, for in the next instant, Marik was gripping Alister's hair in one hand as he kissed his new acquaintance with a passion that lit a fire in Alister's stomach and made him moan. Marik's tongue stroked his, urging it to action as they made out under the palms. The kiss was wet and sloppy, but that didn't deter either of them. Panting, Alister broke away and let his head rest against Marik's.

"Make love," the pale foreigner whispered, tasting the concept as if for the first time.

"Not war," Marik finished with a sweet smile.

So that's what they did, right there in the oasis. Alister left without dueling Marik, but promised that someday he'd return, not for Marik's soul, but for his heart.


	11. Powershipping (Seto x Marik)

**Rated M. This one-shot contains yaoi, lemon. You have been warned!**

* * *

The hot desert air inside the hotel room stirred as a gust of wind blew through the open window. The platinum blond head on the pillow shifted and a sigh came from the young man's parted lips. The brunette head beside his own lifted as its equally youthful owner woke and pressed a soft kiss to his companion's tan forehead.

Marik slowly awoke as Kaiba's lips explored his face, finally coming to rest on his lips. The kiss began as something gentle, but quickly turned into a contest for dominance. Seto had started on top, but Marik was pushing the other into the mattress, his hands firm against Kaiba's pale shoulders as he nipped at his lips until he tasted blood. He shifted his legs so that one knee pressed into Kaiba's crotch, making the corporation president buck his hips with a low growl of wanton desire.

After hooking up during Battle City, Marik had departed for Egypt with his siblings and the two hadn't spoken to each other in a long while. So when Bakura had first requested that Seto go to Egypt, he'd been afraid that the white-haired Brit knew something about his brief affair. Kaiba had been taking a big risk by letting Marik get that close to him, not that they had been incredibly involved emotionally, but Marik was—as Seto had grudgingly admitted—his first, and the last thing he wanted was for his sexual life to be revealed to anyone, especially not a member of the nerd herd. He preferred his private life to remain private, and he'd take extreme measures to keep it that way if necessary.

He'd come to Egypt, telling himself that it wasn't because he secretly hoped to see Marik again. Of course that was what he wanted to get more than anything else while he was in Egypt. He hadn't understood until Battle City, but sex was truly like a drug: once you had a taste, you could never live without it. That was why he'd found himself craving the dark-skinned Egyptian in the months since their last meeting, and why he'd discretely sought out Marik as soon as he'd touched down in Egypt.

Seto chose to turn the tables on Marik then, letting out a grunt as he shoved off the teen and pinned him face-down on the mattress. "I think I'll take you in face-down position." Kaiba's husky voice sent a visible shudder down Marik's scarred back, and he bent his head to nibble on Marik's neck possessively. Marik hissed with pleasure.

"I said no marks!" he choked out, causing Seto to smirk against his skin.

"Too late for that," Seto muttered before shifting over and dragging his tongue along Marik's spine. His partner let out a yell, throwing his head back as he blushed and gripped the sheets in both hands. "Consider it payback for what you did last night."

"At least… you have those… damned turtlenecks…" Marik panted as Seto's hands caressed his sides and his tongue turned him into a quivering puddle by swirling in circles at the base of his spine. "I'll never… understand how you wear those… in the desert…"

"Easy," Seto murmured smugly as he backed off Marik for the moment it took to retrieve the bottle of lube from the floor beside the bed. "I put it on and I don't take it off." He chuckled, amused by his own joke, then knelt between Marik's legs and began to prepare him. One finger had Marik suppressing moans, two had him arching and flushed, but three had him crying Seto's name aloud. Kaiba paused briefly to prepare himself.

"You've… gotten better…" Marik observed, a bitter note in his voice as he understood the implications of that fact.

"Is that a compliment or an accusation?" Seto replied with a smirk, amused by Marik's reaction. "I doubt _you've_ been celibate since we last saw each other."

"No," Marik admitted ruefully. Now he almost wished that he had, just so that he could rub it in Kaiba's face that he had a stronger will. He stiffened as he felt his partner lift his hips with his hands and press against his entrance, a warning of what was to come in the next few moments. He forced himself to relax, even though his instinct was to tense up in response. He screamed as Seto penetrated him, his mind going numb with pleasure. His lover moaned and kissed the carefully carved scars that filled the Egyptian's back.

Seto's own back was covered with scars far less organized, far less artistic. While Marik's scars spoke of beauty, Seto's only spoke of pain. Marik had been tortured in the name of the pharaoh; Seto had been abused in the name of education. Marik's father had been motivated by a purpose he believed to be noble; Seto's step-father had been motivated by the selfish desire for a worthy heir. Marik had inherited a legacy of servile life underneath the sands of Egypt; Seto had inherited a legacy of treacherous life at the top of the corporate ladder. Taking into consideration their shared link to the Millennium rod, and it was small wonder they'd been irrevocably drawn to each other.

Their groans and cries grew louder as Seto kept a steady rhythm going. Marik reached down to touch himself as he felt Seto's focus slip and his thrusts increase in their force. The teenage billionaire came first, but he didn't rest until Marik came as well.

Seto slipped out and lay on his back beside Marik, the both of them panting loudly. Marik rolled over onto his back as well, his hands falling limply at either side of his head. Seto's own hand came up and interlocked their fingers. For all of their harsh banter and aggressive foreplay, there was a tie of genuine affection bringing them back to each other. Marik closed his eyes as he nuzzled his head against Seto's, making those blue eyes close as well.

"I'm glad you came," he whispered to the older teen, giving his hand a slight squeeze.

"Why do you stay here?" Seto asked out of the blue.

"What do you mean?" Marik asked languidly.

"Why do you stay here, in Egypt, when you know that if someone found out that you're gay, you'd be persecuted relentlessly for it. Why don't you come to Domino, where you wouldn't have to hide?"

"I… I don't know," Marik murmured, sounding worried. "Egypt is all I've ever known."

"You handled yourself competently in Domino even so," Kaiba pointed out. He could be very persuasive when he cared to be; it was a required skill in the business world, and it was a skill Marik hadn't counted on Kaiba having. "And you already have friends there, so it's not as if you'd be alone."

"And I'd have you…?" Marik sounded as if it were meant to be a statement, but it came across as more of a question.

"Yes, you'd have me, the richest lover you could possibly dream of having." Seto grinned, looking confident and self-assured as he leaned in to kiss the golden teen teasingly. He'd had Marik eating out of the palm of his hand since the moment he showed up last night—literally and figuratively. Suffice it to say that neither of them would ever see whipped cream the same way again.

* * *

 **Author Notes:** Sorry for the lame ending. :P Please review and request a one-shot, and I'll promise to do my best!


	12. Rodshipping (Seth x Marik)

**Author Notes:** Rodshipping as requested! Please review and request a one-shot for the Marik shipping of your choice by voting in the poll on my profile (or requesting it in your review). You know what I like about one-shots? Not _needing_ to come up with reasons for why things are the way they are. XD

* * *

Marik glared at the tall, proud Egyptian pharaoh standing opposite him, gripping the Millennium Rod even as his arms were crossed over his broad chest. Marik's arms were crossed too as they stared each other down, the tension between them crackling like static electricity before a storm.

"Why?" the teenager demanded at last, his anger bubbling over and getting the better of him.

"Why what?" Seth asked coolly, his deep blue eyes watching the teen with calm consideration.

"Why did I have to be a tombkeeper?" he demanded. "Why did I have to be confined to a life underground? Why did I have to be tortured by my own _father_?" he grit his teeth as he approached the other, his rage burning white-hot beneath his facade of control. "Why did I have to _kill_ my father? Why did my mother have to die when she did?"

Tears filled Marik's eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. Marik was close enough that Seth could see them, but his expression was just as stony and inscrutable as ever.

"Why did I have to suffer the way I did?" He choked up, then, and he could no longer stop himself from crying. A pair of strong arms slipped around him, pulling him close despite his blind attempts to push the other away. "Did I really need to go through all of _that_ in order to protect your secrets?" he asked fiercely, trying to negate the effect of his sobs. "Did you _enjoy_ watching my pain and the pain of my ancestors for these thousands of years?"

He pummelled his fists against the broad, hard chest before him, trying to get a reaction from the man, trying to cause him some pain that would help to even the scales of justice. He wasn't strong enough, though, and he finally slumped forward, crying into the white linen robes of his pharaoh as the taller man held Marik close, the shaking teen enveloped in his warm strength.

"We did not enjoy watching you or any of your ancestors suffer," Seth answered quietly, finally addressing his servant's accusations. "We laid out certain instructions for the tombkeepers, but over time, they changed the rules themselves. They added restrictions that we never intended to be placed over you. They grew more insular than we'd anticipated, but there was only so much that we _could_ anticipate when we had no idea how long it would be until the Final Battle."

The lavender-eyed teen didn't speak, just gripped that smooth linen in his impotent fists as he cried.

"You were never intended to suffer as much as you did, Marik," Seth murmured, the unmistakable rasp of grief and regret entering his voice.

Marik tipped his head back to look into the pharaoh's face, trying to discern sincerity in his sapphire gaze.

"You have my deepest apologies for your pain." The pharaoh paused, lifting a hand to brush away the tears from the boy's cheek. "If I could go back and keep you from experiencing that agony, I would."

Marik blinked rapidly, trying not to cry again, but something about Seth's kindness and pity had touched him deep within. Such understanding was rare outside Marik's own family, and while he'd wanted to stubbornly cling to his anger, he knew now that it wasn't the right thing to do. If he didn't let himself accept Seth's sentiments, he'd be a fool. He'd be choosing misery over closure.

"Thank you," he whispered as he started to cry again, but Seth hushed him and caressed his head against Seth's chest once more.

"Cry no more." His voice was warm and rich, and as he gently lifted Marik in his arms, the teen closed his wet, tired eyes. He put his arms around the pharaoh's neck and let the taller man carry him over to his bed, laying him down as he lay down with him.

"You're heart has grieved enough in your short life," Seth murmured, pressing his lips to Marik's forehead as the youth cried good and hard for the first time since he'd been orphaned. Marik sobbed into Seth's chest until he had no tears left. He'd never known that it was so exhausting to cry. Without even meaning to, he drifted off to sleep in his pharaoh's arms.

* * *

Seth had removed the ceremonial pieces of his ensemble and set them aside before rejoining Marik on his bed. He lay with him for a few hours, owing him that much and more. He winked in and out of sleep every now and then, dozing lightly, but remaining mostly aware, watching over his faithful servant as he slept the most peaceful sleep he'd had in a long time. Seth was dozing a little when Marik opened his lilac eyes and lifted a hand to the pharaoh's cheek. Intense cobalt blue suddenly met the teen's sleepy gaze.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked softly.

"Yes, my pharaoh," Marik whispered, his body limp and relaxed as his lips faintly twitched into a small, tentative smile. He was safe, he was understood, he was cared for. He wasn't feared here, nor was he afraid.

"Call me Seth."

Marik's fingers drifted down from Seth's tanned cheek to rest on his lips. Seth lifted his own hand to hold his fingertips closer as he kissed them.

"Seth," Marik murmured, tasting his name for the first time.

"Marik." Seth said the name against the teen's fingers before pulling his fingers away and leaning forward, their faces quite close. "May I kiss you?"

Marik didn't speak, but he pressed his lips to Seth's in silent answer. The pharaoh was gentle with his faithful follower, his touches were tender, his heat was reassuring, his hands were gentle.

"Could enough pleasure eventually compensate you for all of your pain?" Seth murmured, looking earnest in his desire to please Marik and make retribution for the ills the tombkeeper had suffered due to his own lack of foresight.

"Perhaps," Marik answered after a moment, a sly smile curling his lips as his cheeks turned a ruddy coral color. "It might take a while to even the score, though."

"I'm alright with that." Seth kissed Marik again. "I probably owe you my lifetime, and it's a price I'm willing to pay."

"I look forward to it."

Later after dinner, Marik and Seth stood together on the balcony outside his bedroom, watching the sunset in the western sky. Seth couldn't help but think of Marik as a sunset incarnate: the light lavender of his eyes, the deep red blush of his cheeks, the pale yellow of his hair. Seth also thought that Marik looked lovely in his dark blue linens, a blue as dark as the dusky twilight.


	13. Thiefshipping (Bakura x Marik)

**Author Notes:** Fangirls and fanboys, I now present to you what you've all been waiting for! It took three separate requests, four months, and an hour+ long livestream of Marik Plays Bloodlines, but I have _FINALLY_ written a Thiefshipping one-shot! I must say, I am _quite_ proud of myself for writing it.

 _Please enjoy and review!_

* * *

 **Life's Too Short**

Once he'd wrestled his way into his oversized hoodie, Marik curled up on the couch with his hot chocolate and picked up the TV remote, channel surfing for anything that piqued his interest. After the incident that morning, he'd felt too shaky and agitated to be anywhere but home for the rest of the day. A resounding peal of thunder shook the house, making Marik start and almost spill his hot chocolate.

"Damn storm," he grumbled under his breath before taking another sip of the hot beverage. He had every right to damn the thunderstorm that had caused a car that morning to swerve out of control and almost hit Marik with deadly force. He had every right to damn the rain that had created the puddles Marik had landed in when he lurched out of the way of the car. He had every right to damn the rain that had soaked his clothes as he plodded home without cover after the wind broke his umbrella.

He was still trying to tell himself that he wasn't scared by what had happened that morning. He was still trying to tell himself that he was fine. Sure, his palms were a bit scraped, and both knees were bruised, one rubbed raw to the point of bleeding from where his jeans had slightly slid against the concrete, but other than that, he was fine. He was lucky to be alive.

So why didn't he _feel_ lucky? Maybe because there was nothing pleasant about sitting home alone in the middle of a thunderstorm so severe the world outside looked like dusk when it was high noon? Maybe it was because he'd started to regret kicking Bakura out of the house a month ago, because if Bakura were still here, at least he wouldn't feel alone.

Alone. He really was alone, wasn't he? Yet, by some twist of fate, the gods had spared his life, and it made him wonder if his life had been worth sparing. Not that he was suicidal, not at all, but it made him question what he was doing with himself. Was he living a life worth living? Was he even living a life that he _enjoyed_? If he was honest with himself, the answer was no.

He _hated_ living alone. He was still angry at himself for being so lovesick after Battle City that he let Ishizu and Odion go back to Egypt without him so he could live with Bakura. What the devil had he been thinking?

He hadn't been thinking, not for a moment. He'd been _feeling_ , which was an entirely different thing altogether. He'd felt that nothing could separate him and Bakura, that they would be together forever. Forever was a very short time indeed.

At the moment, kicking him out had seemed like the right thing to do. They'd both been filled with hot-headed anger, both shouting complaints and hurling insults until they both hid their bleeding hearts behind masks of pride. Marik had told Bakura to leave and never come back, Bakura had screamed that he'd do just that, and then he'd marched out of the house, slammed the door, and never returned.

At least, he'd never been allowed to reenter the house. Marik had dumped Bakura's entire knife collection in the garbage, and Bakura had come back to dig through the can on the street and retrieve his most precious possessions. He'd snuck into the house when Marik wasn't home to take a few things that Marik was sure to miss: Bakura's trench-coat hanging on the coatrack, Bakura's steak taking up too much space in the fridge, Marik's favorite dong from the drawer of his nightstand…

"Damn you, Bakura," Marik cursed, glaring at his hot chocolate before gulping it too eagerly. He almost spilled his hot chocolate yet again as another loud noise caught him off-guard. It wasn't thunder, though. It was a loud, ceaseless banging on his front door. He cursed to himself as he set down his hot chocolate and rose from his cozy set-up on the couch to answer the door. The moment the door was unlocked and opened, it swung wide to reveal a drenched, dingy thief.

"Are you alright?" he demanded, his words loud and stern as he stepped into the house, forcing Marik to back up, and held Marik's warm face with both of his cold, wet hands.

"What are you—?"

"Are. You. Alright?" Bakura repeated, his eyes narrowed and blazing, his voice angry in a way that Marik couldn't understand. That fierce gaze dropped and travelled down the length of Marik's body, realizing that he wouldn't get a vocal answer from the Egyptian. His eyes burned into Marik's again, this time with less heat. "You don't seem to have broken anything, but you're shaking like a leaf."

Marik blinked at Bakura, trying to hold himself together. "Why are you here?" he demanded, even his voice shaky.

"I heard about the car accident."

"I didn't get hit—"

"I didn't know that," Bakura snapped, irritated, then dropped his hands from Marik's face with a heavy sigh. "I just knew that there was an altercation between you and the car, and if you weren't here, I would have invaded every nearby hospital to find where you were."

"You would do that for me?" he asked softly, feeling rather touched by the proclamation.

A gust of cold wind blew rain onto them both of them through the open door. He moved past Bakura to close and lock the front door, using the deadbolt as always. He turned around and Bakura was still staring at him with an incomprehensible anger.

"Why are you mad at me?" Marik pouted, crossing his arms.

"You should be more careful," Bakura growled in his rich, gravelly voice, the same voice that sent thrills through his body and made his toes curl.

"It wasn't my fault." Marik turned up his nose at Bakura as he looked away from him. "And anyways, why do you care? You treated me like shit when we were together."

Bakura strode forward with the slow, sensual gait of a tiger fixated on his prey. "That's why I came back."

"Because you treated me like shit?" Marik retorted, his face flushing as Bakura walked right up to him, only stopping once they stood toe to toe.

"Because life's too short." He seized Marik's hair in one hand and jerked him down into a rough, eager kiss. Marik groaned and trembled with need instead of fear, arms slipping loosely around Bakura's waist as the thief grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him close. They made out intensely for several long minutes, neither of them wanting to let up after missing each other for a whole month. In the end, it was another rumble of thunder—and a sudden swath of dusk-blue darkness—that broke them apart.

"Did the power just go out?" Bakura asked after a few moments of pure silence, uninterrupted by the white-noise of senseless TV commercials.

"I-I think so," Marik stammered, looking frightened again. Bakura, in a surprising show of tenderness, took Marik by the hand and led him upstairs to their bedroom. Marik stood in the center of the room, still trembling, as Bakura went to the dresser they'd once shared and opened the top drawer, removing the candle lighter and striker a flame at the tip of the long black tube.

Carefully, holding his breath while holding the flame as far away from himself as possible, he lit the three wicks of the candelabra. After the last time that the power had gone out on them, they'd realized that they needed a plan for the next time. Their problem was two-fold: Marik feared the darkness and Bakura hated fire, and Marik trusted candles more than he trusted batteries. Bakura set down the lighter once the candles were light and went to the battery-operated night-light, switching it on with ease. Marik was relieved that he didn't mock him for it.

"You're wet," Marik said softly, staring at the puddles of water that Bakura had dripped onto the floor.

"So I am," Bakura replied with an air of detachment, taking a moment or two to look down at himself.

"And you're dirty."

"Yep, that too."

"Have you been living on the streets this whole time?"

"Pretty much." Bakura smirked, as if being homeless for a month hadn't fazed him in the slightest. "It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last."

"It _will_ be the last," Marik contradicted firmly. "You're coming back to live with me."

Bakura strolled up to Marik and lifted his hand to cup one tan cheek, his palm less wet and less cold than before. "You know Marik," he murmured, looking almost regretful. "When I said that life's too short, I wasn't talking about mine."

Marik swallowed past the catch in his throat before he answered, "I know." Bakura was immortal: he understood that. He'd come to terms with that fact long ago.

"Come on, let's dry you off," Marik said brusquely, turning to lift the candelabra and head to the bathroom, Bakura on his heels.

"You're so old-fashioned," the thief muttered, eying the candles dubiously.

"Like you aren't old-fashioned yourself," Marik retorted, setting the candelabra down on the bathroom sink and starting the process of undressing Bakura a bit at a time. "You use knives when you could use guns instead."

Bakura just grunted at that as he was gradually stripped of his clothes, the water squeezed out of each item before it was hung over the curtain rod. After just the coat, though, Marik realized something quite important.

"You need a bath."

"I'm not _that_ dirty."

"Yes you are, and you'll get sick if you don't warm up, besides."

"Then warm me up yourself," Bakura proposed, tugging on the strings of Marik's sweatshirt to pull him forward.

"That wouldn't get you clean." Marik worked hard to express _only_ the fact that he was disgruntled as he freed himself from Bakura's grasp and ducked around him to get the bath running. Bakura tugged Marik's sweatshirt off over his head as Marik straightened up. "Hey!" he protested as the damp item was dropped to the floor.

"It was wet. By your logic, that would get you sick." The thief smirked.

"It was only wet because of _you_."

"I could make you wetter if you want me too." Bakura licked his lips.

Flustered, Marik shoved Bakura towards the tub. "Just get in already."

"I'm still wearing my pants, though." Bakura smirked wickedly now.

"Then take them off and let me wring them out," Marik said with a huff. Bakura may have had a minor change of heart, but he could still be an ass when he wanted to. Bakura did as he was told, stepping into the bath as Marik gripped his pants tightly and twisted them over the sink until he'd squeezed out as much dirty water as possible. Over the curtain rod they went, then Marik removed the shower nozzle from its fixture and turned the water on again, this time sending it to the shower head. He sprayed the water directly into the bath, testing the temperature with his hand.

"What are you doing?" The thief eyed Marik suspiciously.

"Well, _you're_ not doing _anything_ , so I might as well wash your hair for you." When Marik was satisfied with the temperature of the water, he started washing Bakura's hair, soaking it down, turning the water off, then pouring shampoo in his hands so that he could scrub his scalp into a sudsy mess. He was surprised that Bakura wasn't grumbling or complaining. Maybe he really _did_ have a revelation that morning…

Bakura closed his eyes as Marik's fingers worked through his hair, listening to the Egyptian's soft humming. This was nice, he decided. It was true that he did tend to be barbaric in his ways—at least, that was the word Marik had used to describe him—but there were parts of Marik's modern, matronly sensibilities that he not only appreciated, but enjoyed.

"What did you put in my hair? It smells like a flower shop vomited on me."

Marik snorted at that, amused instead of irritated, despite Bakura's grouchy tone. "Better flower shop vomit than Eaux d'Sewer."

"I don't smell like a sewer!"

"You got so used to the smell that you don't even notice it anymore." Marik wrinkled his nose. "I would have thought that you'd at least take care of yourself when you were on your own."

"Ryou would have taken care of me—if I'd let him out."

Marik's hands stilled for a moment. "You haven't let him out for a whole _month_?"

"I did briefly every now and then for the first week or so. That's how I spy on Yugi and his friends, remember? He's the reason I don't look worse than I do."

The bronze teen resumed scrubbing Bakura's hair, frowning at the dingy grey color the bubbles had turned. He turned the shower-head back on started to rinse the soap out of Bakura's hair. "How _did_ you find out about the car accident?"

"I was lurking outside the Game Shop and overheard one of his dumb friends telling Yugi about it. Apparently one idiot saw the incident from a distance, called another idiot and told him, and he went to pass the news to Yugi."

"Are you talking about Joey, Tristan, and Tea?" Marik asked, irked.

"I may be referring to some combination of them," Bakura said with a dismissive air and a careless shrug. "The blond idiot was the one talking to Yugi. Hey!" he exclaimed as Marik clubbed him on the head.

"Don't talk about Joey that way. He's my friend."

"Since when do you have any friends besides me?" Bakura sounded jealous, and Marik allowed himself a moment to revel in that.

"Since you stopped hogging me all to yourself," he sassed back. He turned the water off and started to shampoo Bakura's hair again, wanting to make sure that he was completely clean before he started to run amok through the house. "I like Joey. He's nice and cheerful."

"If you like cheerful so much, why don't you date _him_ then." The grumbled complaint was accompanied by a tensing of Bakura's pale shoulders, hinting that his words weren't scornful sarcasm, but something sincere.

"Because I don't love him," Marik answered calmly, slipping off the edge of the tub to kneel on the floor beside it, shifting over so that they could face each other. Marik had to seize Bakura's chin and drag his face towards his, though, for this to happen. "I love _you_ , Bakura, you know that." Marik had missed the way Bakura's harsh expressions would soften for him in his precious moments of true sentimentality.

"I love you too, Marik," he whispered, his voice quiet, as if he were afraid someone else might hear and accuse him of being anything other than unscrupulously heartless and cruel. They kissed for a moment, a light touch of lips that Marik ended quickly, before it escalated into more. Bakura still had to finish getting clean, after all. The Egyptian teen resumed his delicate perch on the edge of the tub, deciding that he'd spent sufficient time indulging in the feel Bakura's wet, soapy hair. He wanted to hurry this along before the water got cold. Yeah, that was why.

"Joey's father hits him too. He kind of understands what I've been through."

Bakura had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep himself from making a snarky project.

"Thank you for taking me back."

Marik froze for a moment, stunned. Had Bakura just thanked him?

"And… I'm sorry for the things I said and did. I'll be better." After several moments of silence, Bakura looked over his shoulder at Marik and rolled his eyes. "Stop gawking at me or I'll take it back."

"I forgive you." Marik might be the only person in the history of the world to ever whisper those words to the Thief King of Kul Elna. Gratitute and apologies were slightly rarer than "I love yous" when it came to Bakura. And his "I love yous" were quite rare indeed. Marik had only ever heard maybe half a dozen from him in the several months they'd been together.

Marik finished with Bakura's hair, then handed him a bottle of liquid bodywash. "Here, you finish washing up while I get you some clothes." Bakura looked like he wanted to protest, but he didn't. He didn't even protest when Marik left him in the dark by taking the candelabra with him. Bakura prefered the dark anyways, and he was relieved to have the fire be gone. Why couldn't Marik just be happy with a bloody flashlight?

Bakura washed himself as Marik had told him to, the bathwater changing color as more grime and filth was removed from his body. By the time Marik had returned with clothes, the thief was toweling himself off as the dirty water drained from the tub. Marik looked away as Bakura dressed, busying himself with trying to flush the silty residue on the floor of the tub down the drain with the rest of the water.

"Let's dry your hair."

"Can we do it while watching TV?" Bakura asked, getting clonked on the head for a second time.

"Power outage, remember?"

"You have a laptop, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but shouldn't we save the battery life?"

"The power won't be out for that long. Trust me."

So it was that they found themselves back downstairs, with both small lights—the night-light and the candelabra. Marik was sitting on the couch as Bakura sat on the floor between his knees, letting the other rub a towel vigorously over his head to remove excess water before attempting to brush all of the knots and tangles out so that it returned to its former silky glory. The laptop sat on the coffee-table before them, Bakura's favorite crime show playing. It was actually a nice compromise of what they both liked: copious diabolical crime for Bakura, and a happy ending for Marik.

When another crash of thunder made Marik jump, Bakura turned up the volume on the laptop, trying to drown out any more thunderclaps.

"We didn't have storms like this in Egypt," Marik murmured defensively, but Bakura just nodded.

"I know."

Bakura's snowy white hair was still damp when Marik finally gave up and set the hairbrush with the towel on the floor. The thief crept up onto the couch beside Marik, putting an arm around him in a manner that was both possessive and comforting. The Egyptian teen leaned in against his partner, cuddling against him as he tugged the blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over both of them.

When the episode ended, Bakura paused it and looked at Marik with mischief in his warm brown eyes. "You know, if you're cold, I can think of a way for us to keep warm."

"And what way would that be?" he asked coyly. Marik already knew where this was going. Neither of them had really settled down after their heated kiss by the front door. He played along anyways. Bakura's maniacal cleverness was Marik's guilty pleasure.

"They say the best way to consolidate body heat is with direct skin-to-skin contact," Bakura crooned, his hand taking Marik's and caging their fingers together.

"Hm. Naked in the middle of the day? I don't know, Bakura, that sounds rather improper, don't you think?" Marik feigned resistance, wanting to hear Bakura's seductive wiles, the ones he'd missed the last few weeks.

"I'd call it resourceful, considering that the power's out and we don't know when it'll come back on."

Pale lips pressed to the back of Marik's hand, the one entwined with Bakura's. He pressed small kisses to his wrist, then started to push back his long sleeve so as to tease more of his dark skin. He advanced as far up Marik's arm as he could get, halting his progress at the inside of his elbow. Marik was panting softly, trying not to squirm as he bit his lip to suppress a moan. His pants felt too constricting, too tight. He wanted to be rid of them.

"Are you convinced yet?" Bakura purred against his lover's tanned flesh, the vibrations of his voice making Marik shiver afresh.

"Damn it, Bakura," he groaned, surrendering entirely to his desires. He'd tried playing the thief's little game, but he'd never been as patient as him. He'd missed Bakura _badly_ in the time they'd spent apart, so why wait any longer? "Get me naked _now_."

Bakura chuckled, pleased that their lust was completely mutual. The only difference between them was that he was exercising his self-control. After they'd made love on the couch—having made use of the lube bottle they'd stash underneath it a while ago for situations just like this one—they just lay wrapped together in the blanket, Marik dozing off as his lover thoughtfully stroked his platinum blond hair.

Bakura couldn't help but marvel at himself. For three thousand years, he hadn't cared for anybody but himself. Sure, he'd had flings and one-night stands in his borrowed bodies, but his heart had lain dormant all that time. Then Marik had come along and somehow changed that, awakening the heart he thought had died in his chest. It felt strange, but he had to admit, he kind of liked it.

He didn't know why it was happening now. Maybe because his host's soul was linked to his own in an inexplicable way. Maybe because this was, as he knew but hadn't told Marik, the last body he'd ever borrow. Marik's incident that morning _had_ been a wake up call for Bakura, reminding him that if he failed, this would be the last life he'd have on earth. If he was going to fail, then he was going to fail with a flourish. And if he succeeded... Then he'd have someone he could share his immortality with.

Marik might redeem his soul yet.


	14. Tornshipping (Ryou x Bakura x Marik)

**Author Notes:** Tornshipping as requested! Rated M for alcohol, smut, language, dub-con. And _discussion_ of sketchy dub-con. O_O This one-shot happens to be part of the canon for my stories "Mumbleshipping" and "Power Of Three."

* * *

"What's _he_ doing here?!" Ryou exclaimed in surprise as he saw Marik approaching. Bakura just laughed, ignoring his hikari until he saw Ryou trying to edge away from him, at which point he grabbed him by his upper left arm, making him cry out as he was seized in the very spot he'd been stabbed by his yami.

"Careful, Bakura," Marik ordered, gazing crossly at the two of them. "I don't want him ruined at the end of this."

Bakura pouted. "But that's the only fun way to do this," he pointed out.

"Can someone please tell me what's going on?" Ryou whimpered, still in intense pain from the way Bakura was squeezing his arm. The pain was so sharp, so overwhelming, he thought he might faint.

"Bakura made me an offer, and while it would have been too suspicious for us to meet physically, meeting in his soul room is another story entirely." Marik had finally reached them and now stood with his arms crossed before the two white-haired teens.

"What kind of—oh," Ryou's stomach started to churn as realization hit him. That kind of offer. He sagged a bit in Bakura's hold.

"Straighten up, you," Bakura snapped, giving Ryou a shake, but it didn't bring about the intended result. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect as Ryou felt his knees weaken.

Marik peered into Ryou's face with a look of vague concern. "Bakura, let go of him now."

"Why should I?" the thief snapped. "He's _my_ host, and I'll do whatever I want with him."

They kept talking, but Ryou couldn't follow the conversation anymore as he slid to the floor and blacked out.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up with those lavender eyes close to his face and a calloused hand brushing against his cheek. Marik sat back, looking up and announcing, "He's coming to, Bakura. Maybe next time, you'll do as I say so that we can avoid all this drama." Ryou winced at Marik's words, even though it seemed like they were intended to be in Ryou's defense.

"I don't see why we couldn't have started while he was unconscious," Bakura growled as he paced behind the two of them. Marik removed his hand from Ryou's cheek and held it out to help him sit up. As he accepted the offered hand and pulled himself upright, Ryou finally realized they were all shirtless.

"You're an absolute barbarian, you know that?" Marik jabbed as he glared up at the Spirit of the Millennium Ring, releasing Ryou's hand but staying within close proximity.

"Says the one who turns people into mind-slaves!" Bakura answered with an accusatory yell.

"Most of the time, they're willing," Marik said, crossing his arms as he tossed his hair. "Bandit Keith wasn't strictly willing, but he still would have liked to defeat Yugi in a duel, so the result was mutually desired. That counts as willing." He turned his attention back to Ryou, seeming to regard him with more respect than he regarded Bakura, or than Bakura regarded Ryou, for that matter. He gently pushed a lock of white hair behind Ryou's hair and leaned in to kiss him tenderly.

The softness of his attentions was a surprise to Ryou. He closed his eyes and began to return the kiss, pleased that for once he wasn't being bitten and scratched and kicked around. Bakura's harsh laughter behind him broke the spell.

"The first time I took you, you told me you weren't gay!" he exclaimed scornfully as he continued to laugh, amused by Ryou's enthusiastic reciprocation to Marik's kiss.

"Thanks to you, Bakura, I don't know what I am anymore," Ryou answered grimly, looking over his shoulder at the evil spirit. "Besides, I know I don't have much choice in this. If I tried to resist, you would just force me to comply, one way or another. You would use physical force—or threats, to create the illusion of willingness. And you," he turned back to Marik now, "You would use the Millennium Rod to coerce me, would you not?"

The two villains scrutinized their captive with an air of surprise.

"You're more perceptive than I gave you credit for, Yadonushi," Bakura growled, narrowing his eyes at his lighter half. "I'll have to keep a tighter rein on you." Ryou began to shrink back from him, trying to make himself look smaller. He was surprised as Marik put his arms around him and cradled Ryou's head against his shoulder, settling himself more comfortably as he straddled the shorter teen's lap.

"You told me he was willing, Bakura." Marik glared at his partner in crime rather fiercely.

"He is, just look at him!" Bakura gestured with his arms towards a confused, frightened Ryou who had started to embrace Marik in return, seeing it as his best option at the moment. He'd actually expected Marik to be his adversary as much as Bakura was, but he was starting to seem more like Ryou's ally in all of this.

"This isn't willingness, this is coercion. This is acceptance." Ryou didn't understand why Marik sounded so angry with Bakura, but he was grateful for the gentle gesture. It reminded him of how Marik had supported Ryou after Bakura had stabbed him, helping him to where his friends were. It reminded him of how gently Joey had helped him into the taxi with concern shining in those big brown eyes that always reminded Ryou of a golden retriever. He so rarely experienced physical affection of any sort, and had become so used to the pain Bakura inflicted on him, he'd decided to savor every moment Marik continued to be gentle with him, knowing that at any second it could all be taken away.

"I thought you didn't care about that!" Bakura shouted, exasperated, his temper getting the better of him.

"Normally, I don't," Marik said without flinching or remorse. "But he's different."

"What the fuck makes him any different from anyone else?" Bakura's eyes narrowed in an almost bored look as he crossed his arms and sank into one hip, striking a sassy pose as he pouted, waiting for an answer.

"He's a hikari, like me," Marik murmured, combing one rough hand through Ryou's white locks. "And I know what it's like to be forced by your yami."

As Bakura rolled his eyes in exasperation, Marik gently pulled Ryou's head up so he could look him in the eye. Ryou was surprised: he never would have imagined that Marik had a yami of his own.

"Unlike you, I was able to lock mine up deep within my soul so that he couldn't escape again," he said calmly, holding Ryou's cheek with one hand while he continued to stroke his hair. "I couldn't stop him from causing some damage first, though." Ryou continued to blink up at him in amazement, and Marik asked, "So, Ryou, are you willing?"

"I'd rather you stay here than leave me alone with Bakura," Ryou answered honestly. That was enough for Marik, who proceeded to make out with Ryou, who actually found this to be enjoyable, especially compared to Bakura. Marik eased Ryou backwards until his back was flat on the floor, and Marik shifted from straddling Ryou to kneeling between his legs.

With a thought and a smirk, Bakura removed what remained of all their clothes, causing Ryou to yelp in surprise.

"Don't startle him like that, Bakura!" Marik snapped angrily.

"I'll do what I want with my host," Bakura growled coldly, striding towards them both and kneeling down by Ryou's head. The pale hikari braced himself for anything, since he could never tell what Bakura would do next. The evil spirit seized Marik by his hair and pulled him into a rough, deep kiss, giving Ryou some moments to breathe easily. Those moments ended a little too soon.

"Don't think I've forgotten you, Yadonushi," Bakura crooned with his cruel grin. Ryou fought the urge to tell him not to call him that, as he did almost every time. He simply swallowed hard instead, holding his breath. Those hands identical to his own slid down his bare chest, Bakura's hands oddly cold. As he drew them back along Ryou's torso, though, he began to scratch, making Ryou gasp and writhe with the sudden pain on his tender flesh.

"Stop, you're hurting him!" Marik cried, grabbing Bakura's hands and flinging them away from Ryou's body. What ensued next was perhaps one of the strangest things Ryou had witnessed in Bakura's soul room: Marik launched himself at Bakura, and the two grappled for a while as they shouted angrily at each other. At some point, the grappling turned to sex, and Ryou curled up on his side, his arms wrapped around his head and his eyes closed. Maybe they would forget he was here. Maybe they would forget that they'd wanted some kind of three-way orgy with him and just satisfy themselves with each other. No such luck was to be had, however.

He didn't notice when the sounds stopped, but he did hear Marik's voice above him saying calmly, "I told you not to frighten him. The poor thing is terrified, all because of you. You're no good for him."

"Well, you wouldn't get to meet him at all if it weren't for me," the thief pointed out with crossed arms.

"Huh. True that, Bakura."

"We should be at least half drunk before we continue," Ryou's darker half said, producing alcoholic drinks out of thin air. "It's always best that way."

Oh no, not a drunk Bakura. Ryou shuddered as Marik traced a finger along his body thoughtfully. _Please say no, Marik, please say no._

"Sounds like fun."

 _No…_

That whole night was a nightmare for Ryou, who as unable to escape any of it.

 _How can they even get drunk inside a soul room?_

Marik was gentler than Bakura, but that wasn't very hard to do. Even so, he'd very sternly warned Ryou in no uncertain terms that he held absolutely no affection for him and never would.

 _Why did they need_ me _to do this?_ Ryou thought in despair.

Marik was right: acceptance wasn't the same as willingness.

* * *

"Wake up!" Mr. Moto cried as he shook the hospitalized teenager awake.

Ryou opened his eyes at last, immediately feeling a pressure from Bakura to relinquish control.

"Ryou, are you alright?" Grandpa asked. "You were crying out in your sleep."

"I'm fine," Ryou answered shakily, trying to sound convincing. "It was only a nightmare." Then he slipped under again as Bakura shoved him out of the way.


	15. Vengeanceshipping (Bandit Keith x Marik)

**Author Notes:** Vengeanceshipping as requested! Post Battle City. Please review, and if you have a favorite Marik shipping you'd like to see added to this collection, please make a request in a review or PM! Enjoy!

* * *

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

Marik looked up from his shirley temple at the man who'd spoken to him from three seats down the bar. He had an American flag bandanna tied around his head, studded leather wrist cuffs, and a pair of sunglasses on the counter next to his drink. Bandit Keith. Marik _did_ know him, but he wasn't about to admit it.

"I-I don't think so," Marik stammered, looking away quickly, trying to end the interaction, but Keith was drunk enough not to care or notice.

"No, I definitely know you," Keith said slowly after a few moments. He stood, taking his drink and sunglasses with him as he moved closer to the teen and seated himself beside him. "Did I duel you once?"

"No, definitely not," Marik answered a bit too quickly, trying not to let the man's nearness unnerve him. Keith would be furious if he knew just exactly who Marik was and how he knew him.

"You sound an awful lot like someone I know," Keith said at last, gesturing to the bartender that he wished for another bottle. He already stank strongly of rum, and the stench was enough to make Marik lean away from him.

"It must be a coincidence," Marik murmured, trying to sound less like himself.

"'Spose so," Keith grumbled and nodded to the bartender who delivered a new, open bottle to his customer. "Whatchya drinkin'?"

"Shirley temple," Marik answered quietly, still trying to turn away from Keith and kill the conversation.

"Ha! That's no drink for a real man."

Marik opened his mouth to protest, but Keith spoke again before he could.

"Barkeep, two shots of tequila for my friend here."

The bartender nodded and promptly filled two shot glasses, Marik watching with a grimace.

"Go on, drink it!" Keith encouraged in his loud, brash manner.

Marik was frozen, unsure what he should do. Of course, he should _not_ drink the tequila. He hated being out of his right mind, and now that he'd abolished his alter ego, he wanted to maintain his mental clarity. Besides, he and his siblings had a flight to Egypt in the morning. He couldn't be late, he couldn't lose track of time, he couldn't—

"Don't think, man, just drink," Keith instructed, picking up a shot glass and handing it to Marik, who, failing to see a way out of this, tipped his head back and downed the alcohol. It burned enough to make his eyes water, and as he set the glass back on the bar counter, Keith slapped him on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit! Now you're having fun! Don't stop now, keep going!"

Marik looked at the other tequila shot, feeling queasy at the thought of more alcohol. But with Keith urging him on, he didn't know how to resist.

* * *

The annoying buzz of his phone alarm woke Marik the next morning. He reached clumsily around on the bed, under and beside his pillow, then finally found the device and pulled it out, squinting one eye open just enough so he could see the snooze button. Five minutes later, he was still half asleep, and his alarm went off again. He finally turned it off and sat up, rubbing at his tired eyes in annoyance. He felt exhausted; how much sleep had he gotten last night?

He knew that he needed to get ready to leave, but his limbs felt heavy and reluctant to obey.

Leave. Why wasn't Odion reminding him to get out of bed? Why wasn't Ishizu in the bathroom with the shower running audibly? This was his hotel, his hotel room... He could finally open his eyes all the way now, so he started to look around the room, only to see something that made him gasp in shock.

This _wasn't_ his hotel room.

This was _Bandit Keith's_ hotel room.

That explained some things, but how had this happened? He made an effort to to recall the events of last night, but he couldn't remember anything after going to the bar and recognizing Bandit Keith. How had his former mind-slave managed to bed the mistrustful Egyptian teen?

He needed to get back to his room, _now_. He forced aside his confusion and consternation and got out of bed—carefully, so as not to wake the broad, muscled American sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed. He stood and winced a little as he took his first step, his lower body aching internaly like nothing he'd felt before. Another step and he hised a little at the sting. Holy Ra, what on earth had they done last night?

He took a deep breath, forced away the pain, snatched his clothes off the floor, and ducked into the bathroom. He washed off quickly and threw on his clothes. He used the complimentary hotel mouthwash to remove the awful taste lingering in his mouth. Ishizu called his phone, and he could tell from the Missed Calls counter that it wasn't the first time, but he didn't know what to say to her right now, so he declined her call, then sent her a text to let her know that he was alright and he was on his way.

He was at the door to the room when he turned and looked back at Keith, who was still snoring peacefully. Marik was still trying to sort out his feelings about last night. Did he regret it? Maybe. Was he ashamed? Yes. Would he do it again, given the chance? He honestly didn't know.

Maybe he'd know how to make up his mind if he could remember the pleasure that had caused his current pain; if he could remember moaning into Keith's mouth as he was pinned against the wall; if he could remember arching on the sheets as he scored Keith's back with his fingernails; if he could remember screaming with ecstasy as Keith pounded him all the way to Nirvana.


	16. Fetishshipping (Marik x Bakura x Malik)

**A/N: Sequel to my Psychoshipping one-shot in my Miscellaneous One-Shots Collection. Mature. Super sketchy dub-con.**

 **Yami Marik = Malik**

 **Marik = hikari/lighter half**

 **I _suppose_ you could consider this to be Conspireshipping since Ryou's body is being used, but it's tagged as Fetishshipping because Ryou's soul/spirit/consciousness is not at all involved. I _could_ have involved it, and I almost did, but... it just seemed like a little much. Besides, Fetishshipping was requested.**

* * *

"What are you doing?" Marik asked hesitantly as he watched Bakura rummage through the fridge with a scowl.

"I was only able to buy a little bit of time for myself, so I need to use what time I _do_ have preparing." The spirit of the Millennium Ring glared as fiercely at the food as if it had caused all of his problems.

"What?" Marik was a bit slow on picking up his meaning, and by the time he'd figured it out, Bakura had turned to glare at him with an inch-long carrot stick in his hand.

"You know best what I'm up against, Marik, so tell me, is this going to be enough?

Marik blushed fiercely and muttered, "My dick's bigger than that, and you know it."

"Do I?" Bakura's teasing was too harsh for Marik to withstand.

"You will soon!" The Egyptian immediately regretted his words.

"And whose fault is that, you bastard?" Bakura snapped back, still furious. He turned back to the fridge and continued shuffling through the produce drawer. "You're not worth a zucchini, that's for sure," he said to himself.

"I am too!" Marik crossed his arms to accentuate his blind protest; he barely knew what a zucchini was.

"If I had to guess, I'd say you're somewhere between a carrot and a cucumber." Bakura removed one sample of each and closed the fridge, now turning to the cabinets.

"I don't like you measuring me against vegetables," his cohort remarked uncomfortably.

"Tough." Bakura glared daggers at him. "It's _still_ your fault." He started moving things around inside the cabinet as he searched for some kind of cooking oil he could use as a lubricant. "Why are you still around, anyways? Nothing's going to happen for now, so you should just go back into the Ring until you can get your body back."

Marik contemplated Bakura's words for a few moments. If he tried to stick around to watch, not only did he risk Bakura getting pissed enough to shove Marik out of the shelter of the Millennium Ring, but he also risked losing his ally completely. After a few moments of thought, Marik decided it was wiser to keep his peace and give Bakura his privacy.

Bakura retreated to his room with his vegetables and jar of coconut oil, securely closing the door before dumping his loot on the bed. He gazed on the items with a sigh.

Marik was such a fool, and that idiot had gotten Bakura in a heap of trouble.

The white-haired spirit took the vegetables to the small adjacent bathroom and put them in the sink, turning on the water so that he could wash them clean. The spirit of the Millennium Ring considered himself above such baseness as sexual needs. He was a god; he was better than that. He honestly had no interest in sex, no desire to engage in those actions with anyone, male or female. He was honestly considering letting his host take over and suffer the penalty for Marik's weakness. That plan was imperfect, however, since yadonushi would probably scream, rousing others on the blimp and drawing attention to himself in an unneeded way.

Bakura was strong enough not to scream, so he had to be the one to do it.

"Damn Marik," he growled as he turned the faucet off and dried his makeshift dongs on a hand towel. "Damn Malik."

Bakura undid his belt and button, pushing down his pants and boxers until they fell to the floor. He retreated to the bedroom to retrieve the coconut oil, then returned to the bathroom, contemplating his options.

Obviously, he was going to _start_ with the carrot, whose end was small and thin enough that it was a painless place to start. He wanted to make the smallest mess possible so that, when it was over and done with, he wouldn't be left with reminders of this repulsive incident. Bakura locked the bathroom door and lay out a towel on the floor, kneeling down on it before unscrewing the lid on the oil. The jar was mostly full and half melted, so Bakura was able to just shove the narrow end of the carrot into the white clots of oil and stir it around until the end was sufficiently coated.

The process was painful, the progress was slow, and Bakura spent almost an hour unsuccessfully trying to get over his revulsion. Finally, he gave up on his task. He lowered himself to the floor and lay on his back, his breathing shallow. He closed his eyes and tried to mentally prepare himself. No doubt, Malik was in Marik's room absorbing an exorbitant amount of heavily BDSM porn while furiously pleasuring himself. If only he would just stay there...

 _Bakura._ Marik whispered into the spirit's mind, his voice laden with a sickening amount of concern.

 _When he gets here, be ready to force your way out._ Bakura ignored his partner's sentimentality. It was easier that way. _He'll be distracted, so he won't be ready for you._

 _Are you alright?_ Marik hadn't ignored Bakura's words, but his question was more urgent. _Maybe he's forgotten about how much he wants you. We might be able to call the whole thing off._

 _You know as well as I do that he hasn't, and won't._

 _You didn't answer my first question._

 _That's none of your business,_ Bakura mentally snarled. _I can handle this; you do your part and I'll do mine_.

 _Is it possible..._ Marik faltered, which further frustrated Bakura.

 _Is_ what _possible?_ Bakura demanded, getting impatient.

Marik wasn't confident in expressing his proposition in words, so he shared his idea as an image instead.

 _Are you insane?_ Bakura snapped at him. _How many souls do you think this body can hold? Two is a manageable strain, but three is going to cause a problem for sure._

 _I just thought it might be a help to you,_ Marik muttered, quickly growing pouty at Bakura's rejection of his attempt to remedy the situation.

 _It would be quite a soul shuffle if we could pull it off_ , Bakura commented thoughtfully as he cracked one eye open to stare at the stainless steel ceiling. _Timing would be key._

 _Perhaps I only take over for you if I can't stop him from going through with it._

 _It_ _sounds_ _possible_ , Bakura grudgingly admitted. _But you'd have to be ready to return to your body as soon as he reaches the point of orgasm; that's when he'll be at his weakest._

 _Is_ _that_ _why_ _you_ _don't_ _like_ _sex_? Marik asked hesitantly. _Because you don't like being weak?_

 _That's none of your business_. Bakura's sharp retort wasn't enough to deter Marik completely.

 _We should practice switching_ , he suggested. _You_ _take_ _a_ _break_ , _and_ _I'll_ _work_ _on_ _preparing us_.

 _Fine._ Bakura sat up and held the Millennium Ring in both hands, focusing his energy as he sealed yadonushi into it and tentatively absorbed Marik into his body.

Marik opened his eyes and looked down at this new body. He shifted his shoulders and immediately found that he thought the unbuttoned outer shirt to be cumbersome. He shrugged it off, tossing it to the floor with the other clothes. Then Marik sat up properly to do what he'd promised: stretch their passage so that Malik wouldn't cause too much damage or pain to the real Bakura's body. Marik curiously dipped his fingers into the oil. It was strange that his hands were pale, that the bangs on the fringes of his face were a snowy white instead of platinum blond.

 _Don't get too used to this body_ , Bakura grumbled. _This is a one-time event._

 _Shut up and let me have my fun_. Marik was starting to get aroused by this body, and Bakura didn't want to think about what that meant Marik felt about _him_.

Marik wrapped his left hand around his pink member and poked both slicked fingers into his passage.

"O-Ohhh..." Marik found himself pleased by the sensation that Bakura dreaded so much. The spirit of the Millennium Ring shuddered in a way that Marik could feel. _If you're going to be so openly disgusted by it, then go away and let me handle this._

The spirit of the Millennium Ring retreated into the shadows, which was for the best, because the longer Marik communed with him, the more of a headache he started to get. To distract himself, Marik focused on the feeling of the carrot slowly sliding in and out as he stretched himself. Marik closed his eyes as he panted audibly with each downward stroke. It felt good, but he wanted more. Carefully so as not to break the tip, Marik lifted himself up and pulled the carrot out all the way, then turned it around and scooped some coconut oil out of the jar with his other hand. Marik slathered the blunt end of the orange root vegetable with the oil, then held it steady beneath him as he shoved himself onto it.

A cry escaped his lips, and the Egyptian shivered with pleasure in his borrowed body. How could Bakura not want this?

He was brought out of his reverie by a sudden, fierce knocking on the door.

"Let me in, Bakura," Yami Marik snarled. "We had a deal, and I've come to collect."

Marik's heart pounded furiously, and he froze in place on the floor. Now he remembered how much he feared his dark side.

 _Don't just sit there; do something!_

That was Bakura's voice in his mind. Marik slowly stood and dropped the carrot to the floor, walking shakily to the door and unlocking it. Only once it was unlocked did Yami Marik stop pounding on the door. Before Marik could even open the door, his dark side was shoving it open and forcing his way in. Marik stepped back as the door slid aside, the lower half of Bakura's body exposed to Malik's crazed eyes.

"You started without me," he hissed, not even bothering to pretend that he wasn't getting an eyeful—and enjoying it.

Marik's mouth was dry, and though he mentally scrambled to conceive a witty remark, he couldn't come up with anything.

"Hmph. No matter." Malik grabbed a pale hand, dragged its owner into the bedroom, and shoved him down onto the bed. He started to remove his belt and reached for both of the other's hands.

"What are you doing?" Marik snapped, pulling his hands away as fear jolted through his system.

"You said no blood." Malik didn't notice any difference between Marik possessing Ryou's body or Bakura possessing Ryou's body. "You didn't say no bondage." He tightly bound both of Marik's wrists together with his belt, showing no interest in removing the striped shirt—the only article of clothing left on that pale body. He already had access to everything he needed. Marik, in fear, couldn't help but shimmy and scramble backwards on the bed as Malik opened his pants and climbed onto it as well.

"W-Wait!" Marik protested as Yami Marik grabbed his thighs hard enough to leave bruises and pulled him close enough to turn the white-haired body on his side and straddle the bottom thigh. "We need to use the oil, or you'll violate your part of the deal!" When Malik gave him a look of puzzled frustration, Marik added, "Just get the jar that's on the bathroom floor."

Narrowed eyes glared at him analytically, then Malik shoved three fingers into the other's greasy hole without warning, making Marik cry out.

"No. I think you're ready."

"How the _bloody_ _hell_ would you kno-oh!" Marik closed his eyes as Malik threw Marik's top leg over his shoulder and shoved his fingers in down to the knuckles, roughly scissoring the body he'd craved. Marik turned his face into the pillow so he could moan without making much noise—and so that he didn't have to watch. It wasn't just the vulnerability induced by sex that Bakura hated, Marik now realized. It was the lack of control. Marik had enjoyed this process earlier because he'd controlled every bit of it himself. Now, he had no control whatsoever, leaving him at the mercy of a psychosadistic personality that he had zero faith in. He could feel his other half creeping closer, climbing higher on his thigh, aggressively impatient.

Without warning, Malik removed his fingers and shoved himself inside. If he hadn't been stretched, Malik was sure he would have screamed. Even so, he still had to smother a pained sob in the pillow under his head, hiding his face completely so that Malik wouldn't see him crying.

"Come on, Bakura," Malik sneered between sharp, nonrhythmic thrusts. "I thought you'd be better than this."

Marik didn't even know how to respond; what was he talking about? Marik was too distracted by the sharp pain in his rear and the forceful grip that Malik had on his arm and his thigh. Bakura would certainly feel those bruises later.

 _You're terrible at impersonating me_ , Bakura sneered from the back of Marik's mind, making his already distressed partner want to scream with outrage.

 _If you want to give him an earful of your attitude, then be my guest_ , Marik mentally retorted, biting down on the pillow itself as he grunted with each painful thrust. _I've had enough of this; it's your turn._

 _That wasn't part of the deal_ , Bakura hissed immediately, his presence in Marik's aching head starting to dwindle again. _Just make it as good for him as you can, then get ready to claim back your own body_.

Make it good? How the hell was he supposed to do _that_? Marik wondered.

 _Let him hear you_. It was Bakura's last piece of advice before he went dormant again.

 _Like hell I will_ , Marik thought at first, but as Malik's growls filled his ears and his own tears of pain wet his face and the pillow, he realized that Bakura was right. So he squirmed a little—purposeful squirming this time, as opposed to the instinctive writhing he'd done earlier—arching his back and letting himself moan aloud. Malik bit down hard on Marik's shoulder, groaning especially loudly. Marik whined—a sound that didn't even need to be forced, given their current situation—and fluttered his tearful eyelashes that framed glittering brown eyes. Marik continued his (hopefully) arousing motions and sounds up to the point where Malik was cursing under his breath, body tensing, moving fast as he lost all focus.

 _Now, Marik!_

Marik squeezed his eyes shut as he focused his spirit as hard as he could on returning to his proper body. It felt like being squeezed through a tube, but when he was gasping awake in his own body, Marik concluded the pain had been worthwhile. First, he became aware of his own body.

"Oh~"

Marik looked down, now aware of Bakura's body, the body he'd temporarily inhabited himself, and the body that _he_ was now causing pain to. Bakura's eyes and mouth were wide open in a soft cry, and Marik told himself to pull back and unbind Bakura's wrists. He told himself to do so, but he couldn't force himself to do so. The arousal in Marik's body hadn't dissipated or dampened simply because of the soul switch, and Marik was having a hard time fighting his instincts.

"Quit staring," Bakura gasped, trying—and failing—to sound intimidating. "Get me out of this, you fool!"

Perhaps it was being called "fool" for the dozenth time, or perhaps it was the look on Bakura's flushed, tear-stained face, but Marik decided to throw all reasonable thought to the wind. He rested his forearms on either side of Bakura's body and eased back a little before rolling his hips forward. Maybe it was the part of him that wanted revenge on Bakura for the steady stream of scornful slurs always aimed at him, or maybe it was the beautiful host that Bakura had chosen to possess. Bakura tried to protest, but Marik didn't stop. He shifted Bakura onto his back and moved at a gentle pace, and at least Bakura didn't sound like he was in pain. Marik began to realize how uncomfortable it was to have most of his clothes on, so he paused and let his cape fall from his shoulders, then kicked off his pants from around his ankles. He had just enough control to undo the belt around Bakura's wrists and lean in to kiss him as he pushed his arms down on either side of him. Bakura only put up a token resistance before letting their mouths melt together and their fingers lock.

A while later, the two of them were laying on their backs side by side on the bed, panting heavily.

"Can we just call it even?" Marik asked breathlessly.

"Fair enough," Bakura conceded. They were quiet for a few moments, then Marik felt a sharp heel being jabbed into his side.

"Hey!"

"Get out, I need to sleep."

"Why do I need to leave?"

"You have your own room!"

Their argument ended with a compromise: Marik could stay in Bakura's room if he slept on the floor.


End file.
